FBI raids the Blue Fox: Dan Coughlin's 'Pass the Nuts'

In his new book of stories, "Pass the Nuts," veteran sports reporter Dan Coughlin recalls his adventures from more than years of television and newspapers. In the following book excerpt, Dan shares a story about a classic Cleveland eatery that served more than food on the second floor.

The Blue Fox was one of the finest restaurants on the West Side, with exquisite food and exciting clientele, but now it's a drug store. We can thank Carmen Loparo for that. Loparo led the FBI raid on the elegant eatery that closed it permanently in 1984.

"It was the day after the Super Bowl," said Loparo, who remembers the date as though it was his wife's birthday.

In those days, the FBI always pulled its gambling raids on Super Bowl weekend for an obvious reason. The Super Bowl was always the biggest gambling day of the year and it still is.

"It's Christmas Day, the Fourth of July and the Senior Prom all rolled into one," said the prominent handicapper Will Cover.

And so on Jan. 23, 1984, Loparo led a team of eight FBI special agents and two Lakewood policemen into the Blue Fox in the middle of the day. They had two specific targets-bartender Marty Rini, who ran a bookie operation, and Joe (Spags) Spagnola, a Cleveland mafia figure who picked up the money from the bookies each Monday for the mob.

"We already had an agent inside sitting at the bar. He was watching Marty Rini," said Loparo. "He had to make sure that Marty wasn't able to throw the betting slips in a bucket of water. The betting slips were made of rice paper. Rice paper dissolves when it hits the water."

All the FBI agents were wearing jackets with "FBI" in big letters across the back. When they struck, they didn't do it quietly.

"We went charging in the front door and I almost knocked down Roger Berry. 'Roger, get out of here,' I said to him," Loparo recalled. "We hit the bar and we told Marty Rini, 'Don't move.' He did not give us any problem. He stood still. He never had a chance to throw the rice paper in the bucket."

Then they nabbed Spagnola.

Roger Berry's presence was providential. Berry, the funeral director who ate and drank at the Blue Fox, seemingly presided over the restaurant's death. Berry hurried out the door and never returned because the Blue Fox never re-opened. There were no services, unless you count the proceedings in U. S. District Court.

Its closing changed many lives. For example, after the Wagon Wheel moved from Shaker Square to Solon, the Blue Fox became my restaurant for special occasions. I took my wife to the Blue Fox on our first date. It was around the holidays and it was crowded. I heard a familiar laugh from the other side of the restaurant. My ears perked up and I leaped to my feet.

"Harry! Harry, is that you?" I said loudly over the noise of a busy dining room.

"Over here," Harry shouted back.

It was Harry Leitch, Gib Shanley's spotter on the Browns' radio broadcasts. He was celebrating his birthday. I stood up and led the entire restaurant in singing "Happy Birthday, dear Harry."

My wife, who wasn't my wife yet, thought she had been transported into a surreal world of lunatics. She has regretted marrying me many times, I suspect.

It was at the bar of the Blue Fox where I engaged in lengthy conversations with Monsignor Edward Seward, a Catholic priest who talked to horses and to God. We never brought up religion, unless you consider horse racing a religion. The Monsignor spent his Wednesday afternoons in the clubhouse at Thistledown Racetrack and most of his evenings at the Blue Fox. He considered it missionary work.

The young widow, Ellie Mangan, took her last breath at the Blue Fox. She was sitting at the bar next to the Monsignor when she suffered a fatal heart attack and tumbled off her barstool. The poor widow had led such a sad life. Her husband, a Cleveland policeman, also died young. He succumbed to a gunshot wound from his own service revolver. When the gun fired, it was in the hand of the widow herself. No charges were filed. The prosecutor, John T. Corrigan, believed that Ellie was justified. He always had a soft spot in his heart for widows.

"She came to me for counseling. The poor thing was deeply troubled. I did my best," said the Monsignor, whose dedication to his parishioners almost equaled his devotion to horses.

As for the Blue Fox, it didn't need a priest. It needed a lawyer.

Excerpted from the book "Pass the Nuts" (c) Dan Coughlin. Reprinted with permission of Gray & Co., Publishers. The book is available at Northeast Ohio bookstores and online from Amazon.com. For more information,
contact the publisher at 1-800-915-3609 or visit its website.

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